Red Haze
by Time Lady 802379
Summary: When the team close a case that gets them one step closer to catching Red John, the serial killer decides that he needs to take action. And that action involves kidnapping Jane, and forcing him to take part in a puzzle game, designed to test the team to their limit while they try to save their consultant. Jane pain!
1. Closed Case Pizza

**This is my first Mentalist fic, but I've tried as best I can! Also, can I point out that I'm British, so if there's anything wrong with the wording, then please contact me and tell me so I can fix it? Thanks?**

**OK, enough of me; Enjoy!**

* * *

"And so, another case successfully closed by the intrepid efforts of our daring heroes!" Jane announced joyously, skipping into the room carrying a large pizza box. "Now only one question remains; how will they work off the calories?" he smiled at the team, "Y'know, I hate to say "I told you so"- well actually, when I say hate, I _really_ mean love – but I do recall saying that this whole things was a Red John case all along, that Mathews killed Burnham on Red John's orders!"

"C'mon, Jane, you know that was just a lucky hunch! _You_ know it, _I_ know it, we _all_ know it." Lisbon said, walking into the bullpen and sitting on the edge of Cho's desk, folding her arms.

"That is so not true! I said from the beginning that this case was connected to Red John, and _none_ of you believed me! And now we're one step close to catching him!" he said, indignantly, opening the pizza box and smelling it appreciatively, before offering it to each of his colleagues in turn.

Rigsby had taken his slice the second it was within reach, and it was gone just as quickly. Cho's face remained as if it had been carved out of stone and Lisbon nodded to him in thanks as they took their slices, but Van Pelt was still tapping away at her keyboard with vigour and didn't seem to notice Jane's presence. He held the box under her nose, moving it back and forth.

"Van Pelt?" Jane whispered in an annoying, small sing-song voice, raising the box to her eye-level. She jumped, gasping slightly, looking up into his face with an exasperated "Why?" expression.

"What?" she asked, annoyed.

Jane looked confused. "Closed-case pizza?" he mumbled, shaking the box again.

"I know what you're doing"

"Yeah..." Jane's brow furrowed. "I'm offering you pizza..."

"No, not that..." she tailed off, looking over at Cho.

"Stop bottling it all up, man." Cho agreed.

"What do you mean?" Jane asked the group, his slice of pizza hovering halfway to his mouth.

Rigsby stood up, a strange look on his face. It was half sympathetic, half annoyed. "We were all prepared this time. We were all ready for you to go manic like you normally do on a Red John case."

"C'mon! I don't know what you mean. I'm perfectly normal! I'm always normal, right?" he laughed. No-one answered. Cho stared at him unwaveringly, and Lisbon coughed. "I'm normal! I'm fine!" Still no reply. "I've taken all you advice to heart, Lisbon, and you, Cho, all of you, I really have. I've made a promise to myself, and now I make it to you all, too. I swear that I will no longer let Red John or my need for personal vengeance rule my life, head or work." He said solemnly, before taking as much of the pizza as he could into his mouth in one go and uncrossing his fingers.

Lisbon didn't look convinced, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Yeah, right!"

"I don't see why you don't believe me!" Jane said to her, mouth still full, so the feignied hurtful tone he tried to put on lost its impact.

Rigsby and Cho returned to their desks, Van Pelt went back to her typing, and Lisbon turned and walked out of the bullpen to her office, keeping her eyes on Jane all the while.

Jane sighed, slipping the pizza box on his desk and collapsing onto his beloved couch. He rested his hands behind his head, closed his eyes lightly, and waited for something exciting to happen.

Nothing did.

Jane considered this good, in a way. It gave him a chance to think about things. Nothing in particular. Just things. Things in general. Red things. Red. Red tomatoes. Red cherries. Red herrings. Red John. Red lights. Red John. Red hair. Red John. Red shoes. Red John. Red paper. Red John. Red tape. Red John. Red blood. Red John. Red John. Red John. Red John. Red John. Red -.

_Red John_.

He had been so close this time. Only, as ever, he arrived too late, greeted only by a mutilated corpse and a haunting smiley face. He was always too late. Red John was always ten steps ahead, always long gone. Jane clenched his fists against the soft leather in anger and frustration.

Would their game of cat and mouse ever end? Who was the cat and who was the mouse, and would he ever know? Who would be the rodent meeting its demise in the cats claws?

"Jane," Lisbon's voice cut though his musings and he jumped, opening his eyes quickly. He'd been so caught up in his own head that he hadn't heard her approach. He looked up at her, smiling and hoping she wouldn't notice that it didn't reach his eyes. "go home." She said it gently, but there was a distinct undertone of a command from someone senior in title.

"What if I don't want to?" he asked, cheerfully, hiding his mood behind a mask of childishness.

"Go. Home." She ordered, her eyes soft and sympathetic where her voice wasn't.

"I'm fine, Lisbon, really." He didn't want to go "Home". That building hadn't been home for a long time now. Not since... _Red John. _

"Jane, nothing's going to happen. We're all only doing the paperwork that you generate with your very existence, and don't have to fill in. You go home and relax. Or do whatever you do for fun. You're making the place look untidy and unprofessional. Do whatever it is you do when we've all left." she said, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she walked off.

Jane sighed. There would be no arguing with her about this, not when she was in this mood. He groaned as he sat up, swinging his legs onto the floor and stretching. As he left, he waved and smiled at everyone he could see.

"See you all tomorrow!" he announced loudly. "Try not to get into too much trouble while I'm gone!" he ducked the pens that were thrown at him from various angles, and before long he was in his car and driving out of the parking lot.

* * *

It was always quiet whenever Jane wasn't around. Even if he was napping on his couch in the corner, making a cup of tea in the little kitchenette or annoying Lisbon in her office, it was always loud and bustling with an unidentifiable energy that got them through all the paperwork at the end of the day. But when Jane was gone, which wasn't very often, the building seemed less vibrant, less bust, missing that energy.

Van Pelt looked over at his corner again. Nope, definitely no Jane. She sighed, and resumed packing all her papers away, ready to head off for the night. Something caught her eye on Jane's couch, something shiny. She looked around. Maybe because he'd made it clear on many occasions that it was _his_ couch, she, Cho and Rigsby always felt awkward going anywhere near it, some freaky psychological Jane trick, no doubt. But now she drifted over to the worn leather, reached down between the cushions and pulled out the offending shiny object. _Objects_, she corrected herself, as she pulled out a set of keys that jangled merrily as she lifted them.

Well, maybe a set of keys was stretching it a bit, more like a key ring with two keys dangling from it. Though she'd never seen them before, she instantly knew that they were house keys, specifically, Jane's.

"Jane's left his keys here."

"He can't have, he drove off a while ago." Rigsby said, without looking up.

"He keeps his house and car keys on separate rings," Cho explained "he once said that he thought everyone should; keep 'em alert and thinking if they have to remember where both of the rings are." He shrugged as Van Pelt dialled Jane's number and held the cell to her ear.

"Apparently it doesn't work." Rigsby gestured to the keys in Van Pelt's hand.

"Cut him some slack, will ya?" she said crossly.

Rigsby bowed his head slightly. Jane had come within minutes of catching Red John, and then missed. He supposed that the consultant was allowed to misplace his keys in such circumstances.

Van Pelt sighed and hung up her cell. "He's not answering," she glanced outside, making up her mind and donning her coat. "I'm gonna go drop them off to him."

"What, now?" Rigsby looked concerned. "It's getting dark!"

"Exactly. He didn't leave long ago, and I'm heading off anyway. I can drop them off to him on the way home before it gets too dark. That way he doesn't have to spend money on a hotel when he can't get in. If I hurry I can get to him before he leaves to come back for them or get a room elsewhere."

"Well, let me come with you." Rigsby jumped up, sending papers all over the floor in his haste.

"Don't you have your own home to get to, _Agent_ Rigsby?" she raised one eyebrow at him. "Besides, it's only been about half an hour since he left, I can get to him easily." she flicked her hair over one shoulder, slipped her bag over her arm, pocketed Jane's keys and strode out of the bullpen.

"Dude, you need some serious help" Cho patted Rigsby's shoulder as he passed, almost smirking.

* * *

His phone was vibrating again. It was ringing and moving inside his suit pocket, distracting him from his dark thought on the drive "home". If they'd found another lead on Red John, then they'd keep calling back. But if not then he didn't need to hear the sympathetic "_Are you alright?_" that was guaranteed if he picked up the call. The cell stopped vibrating. Good. If they _really_ wanted to talk to him, they'd call back.

He pulled over outside the house which was once a home, shutting off the engine and getting out. He stared at the exterior of the building in front of him; the place where he and his wife and daughter had lived happily until he'd made Red John angry.

Now the place was a shell, a shell with cracks breaking through its defences. The huge windows stared at him like the eyes of a great beast, but behind them was the dark and empty soul it tried so desperately to hide from the world.

Jane sighed, and started to make his way into the house, staring at his shoes the whole time. Shiny shoes. Polished. And the bottom of his tailored suit pants. Expensive. But only for appearances, rather than any particular liking of style himself. He pushed the front door open without conscious thought, walking inside, leaving the door wide open to get some fresh air inside the stuffy building. It had been quite a while since he'd been here, and in that time the air seemed to have turned stale.

He didn't bother turning the lights on; what would be the point? He knew where everything was, and there weren't going to be any toys or clothes on the floor. Plus he'd just be wasting electricity.

He paused. He was halfway through the motion of putting his keys on the table when he realised that, actually, he wasn't holding any keys. He frowned. Then how was he inside? He should be sitting dejectedly on the step outside, grumbling and brooding and maybe considering sneaking back to CBI.

Suddenly, the whole house seemed so much more sinister, the shadows seemed to close in from all sides, reaching out towards him. He could almost see the red face laughing at him from the wall upstairs, laughing at his stupidity.

"Hello, Mr. Jane..."

Speaking of the face...

* * *

**Any good? Please let me know if I should continue or not?**

**I love reviews! (Hint hint! ;) ) **


	2. One Pink Unicorn, Please!

**Thank you so much everyone for the reviews! I REALLY appreciate it! Last time I said I was going to update every week was over a year and a half ago, and no update has been seen since, so I won't say it this time. ;) Just don't kill me if I'm a few days late? Ta!**

* * *

It really was dark now. Van Pelt felt glad that she'd decided to drop Jane's keys off when she did. It looked like it was going to be a very bad night to be outside; clouds were gathering and looked very much like they wanted nothing more then to drop all their rain wherever she was headed.

She'd never actually been to Jane's house, per say, but she'd given him a lift back once and dropped him off outside his door, watching him trying in earnest to fit his car key into the lock of the door. Though she didn't suppose he'd remember it all that well. Rigsby had taken offence at something he'd said or done, and so had spiked his tea. It had been strong stuff apparently; Jane had taken a few sips and fallen flat on his face, mumbling about how much his couch must be missing him. Grace hadn't thought that he was in any shape to drive himself home, and so he'd sat in the passenger seat giving her confusing directions and generally being very drunk.

She looked around the dark streets again, trying to remember where the hell Jane lived. The clouds appeared to be holding back for now, and Van Pelt hoped that she'd be far away by the time it started to pour. Why do all the damn streets look exactly the same? Why couldn't Jane have a fluorescent neon sign pointing to his front door? But she didn't think she'd suggest it to him as, knowing him, he'd probably order the sign that day.

She turned another corner, wishing for some kind of way to se where the consultant hid away from the world. Then she spotted his car on a vaguely familiar looking driveway. She turned into the road. That wasn't so hard, was it?

* * *

"_He's here... Now..._" Jane thought to himself.

"You seem surprised, Patrick?" Red John's voice floated out of the shadows to his right. Jane edged backward, wishing now that he'd turned some lights on.

"It's not everyday you decide to show yourself to me." he moved on as silently as he could towards the front door. Thankfully he'd left it open.

"Of course, that way I have the pleasure of catching you unawares, like this." The voice was behind him now, between him and the front door. Jane changed direction, heading into the kitchen now.

"And why would you want to do that?" Jane asked the darkness. He backed into the open plan kitchen, turning on his heels as he went, trying to catch a glimpse of the killer. Then his back hit the counter, cutting off any escape. He brushed his hands lightly over the dust-covered marble surface, fumbling in the dark, searching for something, anything, he could use to defend himself. There was silence all around him.

"You've got rid of all your furniture since my last visit." Red John said from the shadows. "I like it. It's very... minimalistic."

Jane felt a surge of rage well up inside him, and he grabbed the handle of the largest kitchen knife within reach. It felt heavy in his hand, a reassuring weight. Red John would die. Now.

"Last time you _visited_ you slaughtered my wife and child-"

"And tonight," the killer interrupted," you will join them!" Red John leapt from the shadows, knife glinting in the darkness. He wore no mask, but still his face was hidden from view. Jane had no time to react. In an instant Red John was on him. Jane couldn't run, he was backed into a corner. Red John slammed into him, and pain exploded in the consultant's temple and he cried out.

He pushed back against the larger, stronger man, trying to gain some purchase and steal the upper hand. Red John was too strong, and Jane couldn't hold the other man's knife back for much longer, the sweat was beginning to stand out on his forehead. Blood flowed from his temple down his face.

"Give up, Patrick," Red John whispered, far too close for comfort. "you'll be with your family soon."

Jane was bent over backwards now, the back of his head pressed onto the stone counter behind him. Red John had a firm grasp on Jane's wrist with one hand, and was trying to plunge the knife into Jane's chest with the other, and Jane couldn't keep the killer's weapon away. Patrick glared into Red John's eyes, and the killer glared back. Both men wrestled with each other, trying to get their knife into the other man and avoid the knife aiming for them.

Jane groaned loudly, and Red John's knife slipped a few inches closer to Jane's neck. "Just let go, Mr. Jane. Join your lovely wife and daughter." Red John growled, pushing both knives closer to his soon-to-be-victim.

It would be so easy to just let go, to let the knife claim him. It would be quick, painless, and he wouldn't have to pretend anymore. Maybe... Maybe he'd even see them again? Maybe they'd be waiting for him? He felt his eyes watering, he so wanted to see them, see their smiling faces, his daughter laughing. He could hear them

"_Patrick, Charlotte wants a pony..."_

"_Please can I have a pony, Daddy?"_

"_Yes, __Daddy__, can she have a pony?"_

"_Pretty please? Pleeease? Please, Daddy?"_

"_What kind of pony do you want Daddy to buy you, sweetheart?"_

"_A pink unicorn! Please! I'll keep it in my room! I'll polish its horn! I'll ride it everyday!"_

"_I think you'd need to keep it in a bigger space than your room, dear..."_

"_Oh... Then I'll keep it in YOUR room! Pretty please?"_

"_I'm sure Daddy will try and get you a unicorn, but it might be a bit difficult, sweetie..."_

"_Yay! Thank you, Mommy! Thank you, Daddy! I love you!"_

A single tear fell down his cheek.

No. He couldn't just give up. If he did, Red John would never pay for his crimes. Red John would never die. He'd never be caught and revealed, and his legacy would live on. He couldn't give in.

Jane let out a roar, startling his foe and kicking out at the other man's knees. Red John grunted in pain and fell forward onto Jane. Jane overbalanced, falling to the hard floor, landing on his side, the breath knocked from his lungs.

Jane felt his own blade pierce the soft flesh of his neck, and cried out as the other knife entered his thigh. His blood began to flow out of his wounds, his vision blurred. His grip on reality was fading, but he only gripped the knife harder, pulling it out of his neck and scrambling away. He tried to get to his feet but his thigh screamed in protest and he fell again, crawling away, dragging his leg over the polished floor.

He could feel that the wound in his neck wasn't bad, that the knife just split the skin and didn't go in too deep or sever anything vital, but he was finding it hard to pay attention to cataloguing his injuries, Red John was pursuing him, he could hear the heavy footfalls behind him. But now only Jane had a weapon, Red John's was embedded in Jane's leg. If he could just stand up he could use his own knife.

He fell into the hallway. The wooden floor was wet from the rain pouring in through the open door, and he slipped again, sliding closer to the outside. The concrete of the sidewalk would give him better purchase and he could finally face Red John and finish him.

Suddenly, hands grabbed him from behind, closing on his neck. The earlier injury hurt and the blood flowed faster, running down his chest, staining his shirt and waistcoat. He could feel the long piece of string wrapped round his neck after the hands receded, cutting off the circulation and air. Red John was suffocating him.

"You can't win, Patrick." Red John growled, easily avoiding Jane's panicked attempts at thrusting the one remaining knife into his attacker over his shoulder. "This time, no-one's coming. This time, no-one will hear you scream."

The knife still inside Jane's thigh twisted and he screamed in agony. He flailed weakly, trying to get away. He couldn't breath, the string was squeezing his neck so tightly and his leg felt as if it was on fire. There was so much pressure on his head, he could barely think, his movements were becoming sloppy and uncoordinated, his body going limp and floppy.

Was this death? His vision was failing, his breath coming in ragged wheezes. The shadows were becoming darker and bigger, as well as the shadows in his mind, smothering his grip on what was real and what wasn't.

"Jane?" Van Pelt's surprised shout cut through the fog in his mind. He opened his eyes and tried to focus on her blurry figure. She was o far away. The pressure on his neck loosened slightly, as if Red John was surprised at the interruption. The young agent grabbed her gun out of its holster and aimed it carefully.

"Let him go!" Grace shouted. The hallway was so dark she could barely see inside it, but from what she could see it was obvious that Jane was loosing his fight. She couldn't tell much about the man trying to strangle the consultant, he was hidden by shadows, black clothes and Jane's body. "Let him go, now!"

Red John chuckled. "Well, well, Mr. Jane, it seems that fate wants us to spar for a little longer." He twisted the knife again and Jane screamed. Van Pelt's grip on her gun tightened, and she ordered again for Jane's release. "Until next time, my friend..." he pushed Jane away in front of him and then stepped back, melting into the darkness.

Jane fell forward, out into the rain and down onto the hard ground. He felt his head connect with the cold concrete and heard Van Pelt's panicked shouts. Her warm hands found his head, supporting him where he lay while she called for an ambulance, and telling him he was going to be OK. He was shaking and shivering, both from the cold, the wet and from the blood still leaving him. He tried to look back to where the killer had been.

"Red Jo-" he whispered, groaning. Then his world faded to black.

But still he did not let go of the knife.

* * *

**Dun dun duuh! How did I do writing Red John? You may notice he doesn't say much... That's because I'm not overy confident about writing him.. Meh! Sue me!**

**Reviewers get bananas!**


	3. The Man Trapped Inside Eyes Of Fire

**See? The minute I say I'll update, something comes up and I can't... Sorry, I know I'm late... But I had a bad weekend with no time to myself, and then a revealing week that put me in a bad place... But I'm back now! No more wallowing for me!**

**And thanks for the support everyone! It means so much and makes my day whenever I get even one review! You guys rule! :D This is for you!**

* * *

Van Pelt leapt forward, trying to get to Jane before he hit the ground. She didn't get there quick enough, and dropped down beside him as he lay silently. Desperately, she groped in her pocket for her cell phone, dialling 911 to call an ambulance with one hand and rolling Jane over with the other.

He didn't look good, his pants were quickly turning dark with blood and his neck was red, with an angry looking gash just above his collarbone. His eyes were only half open, still searching the doorway for the man who had tried to kill him.

"Jane, can you hear me? You're gonna be OK!"

"Red Jo-" he whispered, groaning as he said it, one arm reaching out to where the killer had been standing. Then his whole body went limp, eyes closed and sighed as he lost conscious, arm falling to the ground again.

"Jane!" she tried to shake him awake. Then she remembered he was injured and stopped. She didn't want to hurt him more.

"The ambulance is on its way. It'll be here soon. Don't worry!" she told him. Truth be told it was more for her benefit than his, seeing as he couldn't actually hear her, what with his being unconscious and all.

So she concentrated on keeping his head off the ground and her eyes off the blood. Then she noticed that he was holding a very bloody kitchen knife. A very big, very bloody kitchen knife. She tried to ease it out of his fingers; maybe it was Red John's blood? Suddenly his whole body tensed, his grip on the knife became vice-like and he gasped back into consciousness.

"No!" he cried, trying to jolt upright, before groaning and grimacing in pain.

"Jane, it's OK, I'm here! You're safe now! He's gone!" Van Pelt tried to reassure the man. He started thrashing, his eyes unfocused and terrified. He wasn't faring well. Most likely it was the blood loss.

"Where is he?" Jane was babbling, close to incoherent. "Where... I need... Why... Ouch... YOU!" he was trying to jump to his feet now, bringing the knife in front of him to face an imaginary foe.

Van Pelt hurried round to face him, taking his face in her hands and staring into his eyes. "Patrick Jane!" she whispered, urgently. He looked at her. Good. "You are safe! " She kept looking into his eyes, trying desperately to break through to the man trapped inside. "Stay with me Jane. You're safe. The ambulance is on its way. You're going to be OK." But still he was struggling, trying to look past her to the man that only he could see. She slapped his cheek lightly, bringing his gaze onto her again.

"Where is he?" he asked, looking genuinely confused. He groaned again, clutching the knife until his knuckles turned white, a startling contrast to the rest of him, which was mostly red. Grace heard the sound of approaching sirens.

"_Thank God!_" she thought to herself. "Jane, the ambulance is almost here. I know you don't-"

"Where is he?" Jane asked again, his voice breaking now, pure rage turning his normally pleasant voice into a snarl of anger, his eyes dark with uncontrolled fire. Grace was scared of him momentarily. Then she reminded herself that Jane wasn't right in the head at this time, and focussed all her energy to trying to bring the man she knew out of his own mind again.

"We're going to the hospital, Patrick," her tongue stumbled over his first name, but she thought, given the circumstances, she could be excused. "I'll ride with you. The medic's will help you. You'll be fine!" she reached down to his shoulder, rubbing gently, trying to sooth him. Again, she could see his eyes calming, the fire retreating slightly. He was going under again.

"I'll ride with you, Jane, I promise..." she said quietly, hoping that if she quietened down enough, then so would he.

"No..." he was slumping now, and Van Pelt had to lower him slowly back down to the ground lest he injure himself further. "He's here... He... He killed them... I need..." he brought the knife in between their faces, and Van Pelt could see her own terrified expression reflected on the red and silver surface. "I need to kill him." Jane managed the last sentence with perfect clarity, and she knew that he meant it. He _needed_ to kill Red John. Then the fire receded completely, and Van Pelt was left with a very scared, very confused, very weak Patrick Jane. "... Grace?..." he whispered, before falling silent and still again. Grace lowered him the rest of the way, resting his head on her coat

As the ambulance drew up beside her, he dialled another number on her cell and held it to her ear.

"_Lisbon._" came the immediate reply from the other end.

"Boss, we've got a problem,"

* * *

Lisbon was always telling her consultant he drove way too fast. She didn't let him drive her anywhere for that exact reason. She told him so, and he'd always reply "I drive just fast enough!" with the smile that said "_You poor, poor deluded person; Speed limits are MADE to be broken!_"

But now here she was, speeding along the road as fast as physics would allow her to and also not lose any speed on the corners. And all because of that same infuriating consultant. She should have known something like this was going to happen. It's her job, know the bad guys, and protect the good guys.

Red John and Jane were brunette and blonde, Yin and Yang, night and day, ice and fire. Hate and love. Red John had destroyed the life Jane had once had, taken away the love of his wife and daughter. One day they were going to have it out.

But why did it have to be today?

Lisbon turned another corner, cursing at how slow she seemed to be going. She should have seen this coming! This last case had brought them one step closer to finding, and ultimately taking down, Red John. Jane hadn't been as manic as normal. They were getting too close to the killer for comfort. So now he'd decided to take Jane out of the equation? Now he'd decided that he'd had enough fun and it was time to work?

She should have made sure he was guarded tonight. Finally, she turned into the last street, her eyes drawn immediately to the flashing blue lights outside her consultant's house. Then she saw the gurney currently being wheeled into the back of the vehicle, and nothing else mattered. She pulled to a stop behind the ambulance and caught a glimpse of Jane's face. An oxygen mask was covering his nose and mouth, a medic was carrying a blood transfusion bag aloft next to the prone man, and Grace Van Pelt was holding Jane's hand, a look of worry etched onto her face.

Lisbon got out of her car and ran to Van Pelt's side. "How is he?" she asked quickly, standing on tiptoe to get a good look at the man.

"Not good, boss, he's lost a lot of blood, and he went a bit... crazy for a while... But they say that he'll be OK." Grace looked over her shoulder as one of the doors closed. "I promised I'd ride with him..." Lisbon wouldn't have dreamed of stopping her, but she also know that the rookie wouldn't take no as an answer this time.

"Sure..." she said quietly, waving a hand to indicate she could go. Van Pelt smiled briefly, and then ran into the ambulance to sit by Jane's side, taking his hand again and talking to him. Then the other door closed, the siren began to blare, and the vehicle sped off.

Cho appeared behind her. "Boss?" his unmistakable, unbreakable monotone wavered slightly. Lisbon sniffed, turned to face him, and said three words, quietly and angrily.

"Red John pays."

Cho just nodded. Rigsby arrived a few minutes later, and by then Cho and Lisbon were already at work, cordoning off the area and calling in forensics and backup.

* * *

**Why? Because for some reason I can write crazy!Jane, and it seems the kind of thing he would do, so I wanted it in there. That's why!**

**I know it's short, but I felt bad for making you wait, so I wanted it up as soon as possible. Not going to be able to get up to date by tomorrow, so I've decided that I'll update when I can, and see how that works out. Deal?**


	4. Detecting

**I know, I know... I'm too late to even try to justify it. Sorry!**

**By the way, I've just noticed how very, very, VERY big the gap is between Sacramento and Malibu... So I'm going to ignore it, because it interferes with my story. Deal with that, Geography!**

* * *

"It's no good, boss, we looked everywhere. There's no sign of him or anyone else. There's no way that he could still be anywhere in this area." Rigsby jogged over to Lisbon, panting slightly and shaking in the rain that was still falling. It seemed that even the weather was on Red John's side.

"Damn" Lisbon groaned quietly to herself, angrily throwing her sopping-wet hair over her shoulder.

She'd received a call from Van Pelt a while ago, telling her that Jane had just gone into surgery and she'd call again when he came out.

Shit... Jane was in _hospital_... In _surgery_! All because she hadn't insisted, hadn't even _thought_ to make sure he was protected tonight. Hell, she'd even been the one to force him to go home. This whole thing practically had "_Lisbon woz here!_" written all over it in huge red letters. This was her fault.

"Boss?" Rigsby asked as she stared into the rain. He exchanged a look with Cho, eyebrows raised high.

She blinked. "OK, Cho, if there's any CCTV of the surrounding area I want it, go get it."

"On it, boss." Cho answered, hurrying off.

"Rigsby, you go look at the front door, try and see how he got in. If there's nothing there check the back entrance and the windows. I'll go talk to the neighbours, see if they saw anything."

Well, maybe neighbours was too strong a word. Neighbour, singular; a wealthy middle-aged woman lived a couple of hundred meters down the street. And it turned out that she hadn't seen anything unusual. She's seen Jane arrive, while she was taking in the groceries, heard some shouting and yells, and then come out to see Jane fall out of the front door into Van Pelt's arms. So nothing useful there then.

Lisbon thanked the woman and grumbled her way over to where Rigsby was checking the door one last time.

"Anything?" she asked half-heartedly. Red John would never leave any clues anyway, but especially when attempting to murder Patrick Jane. He was too careful.

"Sorry, boss, there's nothing here." Rigsby gestured to the lock. "Nothing out of place. Looks like he must have used a key to get in on his own. There's nothing on any of the windows or doors to indicate a break-in." He sighed, hand on his hips, shaking his head. "But I'll tell you somethin, boss; Jane's got one hell of a nice place here. You should see the size of it! It's huge! The front room's bigger than my whole apartment! But it's really weird..."

"How so?"Well, I've gone all the way round the perimeter, checking for entry points. And no matter where I went, it looked like there was nothing inside. No furniture or anything..."

Lisbon shook her head. "It's none of our business. If Jane doesn't want furniture he doesn't have to have any! He can be as abnormal as he likes."

The she sighed. It was her job to go inside the premises and search for evidence; fingerprints, DNA, hair, blood, anything. She felt guilty for intruding on Jane's privacy, but it was her job, she had no choice. Slowly, she pushed open the door, treading lightly on the wet floor. The floor itself was made of polished wooden boards, so the layer of water made standing upright virtually impossible. How Jane had managed it with a knife in his leg she'd never know.

She shuddered slightly, closing her eyes.

A _knife_ in his leg! He was in _surgery_, _right now_!

Why hadn't she made sure he was protected? Why had she made him leave? Simple really; though she'd never say it, she was worried about him. Whenever a Red John case fell through it seemed every time that he died a little bit more inside. So she'd sent him home, where he could do whatever he liked, break anything he liked, and not endanger his (or her) job.

Sure, that _sounded_ selfish, but she knew that he would never let anyone know what a Red John case did to him, how it made him think, feel and act, so in a way, by sending him home she was doing him a favour. So what if he never appreciated the position he put the unit in, they all took care of him without him even knowing it.

She opened her eyes, preparing to see the _real _Patrick Jane. Now she saw what Rigsby had meant. There really was nothing in here. Nothing at all. There was a pile of unopened, unsorted mail in the corner, now thoroughly soaked. But no chairs, tables, pictures, ornaments, not even a plant or rug. There was no indication that the magnificent building was lived-in.

Lisbon made her way quietly over to the kitchen area, which opened out onto the front room across the hall. The same could be said for this room too; though this time there was a kettle, toaster, an empty fruit bowl, knife rack and blender. Basically, everything needed to support a person's dietary requirements, without any character or evidence of use. These items, it appeared, were only here for when he couldn't stay in the CBI and wasn't eating out in expensive restaurants. There were also other everyday appliances such as the stove, microwave, fridge-freezer and a huge sink.

She noticed that all the pots and pans and utensils were all in their place, the pans and pots dangling from a rack above the stove, the utensils on a long hooked ledge running under the head-height cupboards from one wall to the other.

Jane had always struck her as that kind of person; everything had its place, and it was always there. Except... Now that she looked, something was wrong. In the knife rack, one of them was missing. Carefully, Lisbon made her way round forensics studying bloody patches to the offending rack. Only one was missing, the biggest one it seemed, and what had been identified as the earliest bloody patch was closer to it than all the others.

So, Red John had tried to finish Jane off with one of his own possessions? He probably thought it poetic or something. She made a mental note to get the weapon off Van Pelt when she got to the hospital; maybe Red John had been sloppy and left some evidence on it? Probably not, but she could hope.

Rigsby coughed behind her. "So boss?"

"Nothing? No clues?" she asked again, though she knew there was no point.

"Nothing," Rigsby reluctantly confirmed. "he must've had a key or something."

"Or Jane let him in."

"Not possible. Jane left his keys at the office. That's why Gra-... Van Pelt was already here; she was dropping them off to him on her way home. Jane shouldn't have been able to get in at all, and I don't think he's the type to keep a spare set. "

"Understandable..." Lisbon didn't think that if her family had been slaughtered in her own home she'd entrust a neighbour with keys. She most certainly wouldn't just leave a pair outside under a flowerpot where anyone with half a brain cell could find them.

Looking around again, she spotted something on the wall and walked over to it. It was an electronic alarm system, and it looked state-of-the-art and high tech, expensive.

Pointing to it she said: "What about this?"

"Nothing there either. I called the security company, and according to their records, the alarm hasn't been turned on since the murder, let alone activated." Rigsby tapped the little box. Sure enough, all the buttons and keys remained dark and unresponsive. "It can't tell us anything. I don't know why Jane's not turned it on since..."

"Damn... Anything from Cho?"

"Yeah, he called in a few minutes ago. He said that there aren't any images of the immediate area, but there are a few cameras a few miles away, in each direction, on every road. If he came by car, we'll see him."

"We might get lucky..." Lisbon sighed. Truthfully, this could be a huge breakthrough. If they could find Red John's getaway vehicle, maybe they could find where he was based? Maybe they could even find out who he was?

Lisbon jumped out of her musings as her cell phone started ringing in her pocket.

"Lisbon." She answered

"_Hey boss_." It was Van Pelt

"How is he?" Straight to the point, no beating around the bush. Not now. Not when it came to Jane.

"_He's alive_." The rookie sounded tired, her voice strained. "_He's just been brought out of surgery, they're taking him to a private room where we can keep an eye on him. He's being kept sedated for a while to the stitches can take hold first before putting any strain on them_."

"You stay there. But how is he doing?"

"_I'm not sure really... He's unconscious, but the doctor's said that the operation went well, and that they think he'll be OK_."

"Good. I'm on my way. Stay with him. And Van Pelt: If anyone tries to make you leave, arrest them!"

"_Will do, boss!_"

Hanging up, she turned back to Rigsby. "I'm going to the hospital. Finish up here and I'll meet you and Cho back at the office.

Rigsby nodded. As Lisbon sat behind the driving wheel she heard him talk again, quietly. "Hey boss? Make sure he's OK?"

Lisbon smiled at the tall man. "You big softie, Wayne..."

He smiled sadly as she shut the door and sped off.

* * *

**And, because I'm so late, you're getting another chapter, RIGHT NOW! Enjoy!**


	5. Do You Not Watch TV?

**Can't wait for the next episode! We're finally meeting Rigsby's dad! Yay! :D**

* * *

Grace Van Pelt prided herself on her positivity. She thought that a happy outlook was one of the best ways to get to know people, especially when working for the CBI. If suspects or victims were faced with a grumpy or negative detective they would most likely clam up. But they liked her. She could get information out of a suspect who mistook her happiness for inexperience, naivety or softness, and victims felt at ease with her, rather than with Rigsby or Cho, so she could comfort them and her words might actually mean something.

But it's not always so easy to be positive.

When your friend and colleague is lying in a hospital bed, white as a sheet, with blood being pumped into his veins through a tube and 157 stitches in his leg, neck and forehead collectively, you can be forgiven for feeling a bit down. At least, that's what Grace thought.

Patrick Jane was untouchable. He would not be beaten by one serial killer with a grudge. Sure, he'd lost his family to the madman, but the consultant was not going down without a fight. Grace was almost surprised when they opened him up that they didn't find he was held together by screws and circuits, with a heart that clicked or bleeped to a perfect pre-set rhythm. Anyone who knew and noticed as much as he did was either psychically gifted or a robot. Seeing as he refused to say he was psychic, that only left one option.

Now, looking at him in the bed, looking so vulnerable and broken, Grace realised how much the blonde man meant to her and their unit. Cho and Rigsby were working flat out to catch Red John right now, and Lisbon was almost certainly breaking every speed limit between the crime scene and hospital she could find to be with Jane.

Van Pelt looked at his face. Even in his sleep he looked pained and troubled. Anyone who could look like that while under heavy sedation had some serious problems. Problems which Grace Van Pelt intended to see sorted out.

The door opened and Lisbon stepped inside. Grace had been right about the speeding.

* * *

"How is he?" her boss asked. The consultant was pale and drawn, his cheeks had a hollow look about them, and his eyes were framed by the biggest pair of bags Lisbon had ever seen; their dark black colour a shocking contrast to the whiteness of his skins complexion. His normally perfect golden curls were lank and unruly, some parts dyed dark with his own blood. Two different tubes were attached to him, one entering each arm. While one was giving him blood, the other was delivering morphine to help with the pain and keep him unconscious.

In short he didn't look his best.

"OK, I think... They won't tell me anything other than it was touch and go for a while. They didn't even react when I threatened to arrest them!" Van Pelt sighed, standing and walking over to her boss.

"Hell..." Lisbon groaned, leaning on the wall behind her and closing the blinds at the same time, something that Grace had meant to do earlier and forgotten. "I knew it was a Red John case, why did I make him leave? If he'd just stayed on his stupid couch, none of this would've happened!"

Van Pelt made to reply but was cut off, as Jane started twitching and groaning.

"Jane?" Both women moved closer to the foot of his bed. He stilled. Lisbon sighed in relief, looking back to Van Pelt.

Then Jane began to thrash violently, shouting in his drug-induced sleep.

"Go get help!"Lisbon ordered Grace even as she herself rushed to Jane's side. The rookie hurried from the room and Lisbon tried to calm the unconscious man on her own.

"Jane!" she said loudly, holding him down as he flailed and yelled. "Calm down! You'll hurt yourself! Please, Jane! Please stop!"But not matter how hard she held him, he would not stop. If anything he struggled more, his face set in a grimace of pain, his groans and shouts increasing in volume until Lisbon's ears physically hurt.

"Jane! STOP!" she pleaded again. The blonde man continued to struggle, ignoring Lisbon's pleas.

Flinging the door open, a whole team of doctors and nurses flooded the room, pushing Lisbon roughly aside to attend to their patient.

"What the hell have you been doing to him?" one of the doctors barked at the Special Agent. All of the newcomers took their apparently rehearsed positions around Jane's bed, holding him still a lot more effectively than Lisbon had managed on her own. "Doctor Stells!"

Doctor Stells, a middle-aged man wearing a long white coat and a panicked expression rushed forward, syringe in hand. While a young female nurse held Jane's head to the side, preventing him from moving, Stells jabbed the needle into the consultant's neck, aiming for the jugular with a practiced precision. Jane's face grew more pained as the drug was released into his body and he groaned louder, still yelling incoherently.

As the doctor's continued to hold him, Jane gradually calmed. His movements slowed, veins no longer throbbing, those restraining him not having to work as hard. Even as his shouts ceased, he still continued to groan, now whimpering more often than not. Eventually, after several minutes, the doctor's could let go, and Jane only twitched occasionally, gasping and whimpering.

As Lisbon and Van Pelt watched anxiously, Jane became silent and still again, relaxing into the pillows with a sigh.

He'd torn the stitches in his neck and leg, and generally looked even worse than he had done a matter of minutes ago, now with a thin film of sweat coating his skin.

Van Pelt let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. "What was that?" she asked shakily.

The barking doctor turned away from his patient to the two agents. "Can I have a private word outside please?" he said curtly, walking out and holding the door open for the pair. He stopped just outside Jane's room, his face and eyes hard. "Would you care to explain what you two ladies did to make him react like that?"

"What are you talking about?" Lisbon was outraged at the doctor's suggestion. "We did nothing! We were talking, that's all!"

"Talking about him I suppose?" the doctor asked, coldly, watching as one lone nurse stayed behind to re-do the stitches Jane had torn and wiping his brow with a wet cloth.

Grace was slightly taken aback. "Well... Yes... But we weren't being loud... And besides; he's asleep, _unconscious_ according to your colleagues. It shouldn't make a difference what we talk about around him!"

The doctor sighed, shaking his head. "Do you not watch TV?" he asked.

"Pardon?"

"Patients, even while under sedation, can sometimes hear what is going on in the world around them, the TV or conversations for example. We've had cases in the past when a patient has woken up just as their favourite bit in a film or show is coming up just because they could hear it and couldn't bear to miss it! So, basically, if what you're saying is true, he was listening, heard what you said, and reacted badly to it, but couldn't wake up fully because of the drugs in his system keeping him under."

"Trust Jane to be listening to our conversations even when he's supposed to be unconscious!" Lisbon sighed. "_He must have heard us talking about Red John..._" she thought to herself.

"Well, anyway," the doctor continued "he should be fine, assuming nothing else happens. It was a close-run thing for a bit, but we got him through the worst patch. I'll tell you something though; he's one hell of a fighter, this one! The only reason it got touchy was because he didn't have enough blood to keep going, rather than any physical weakness. We'll keep him under sedation for a few more days, probably no longer than 2 or 3... After that we'll keep him in and under observation for another few, then he can leave with someone to keep a close eye on him. You know; get stuff, make tea, help him from place to place until he can move around without the crutch-"

"Crutch?" Grace interrupted.

"You really think he's going to be walking around on his own straightaway after having a rather large knife shoved most of the way through his leg? He's strong alright, but he's not that strong!"

Neither Lisbon or Van Pelt could imagine Jane with crutches, so they stopped trying. "Ah yes, that reminds me!" the doctor exclaimed, dashing off and motioning for them to stay put. He returned a few minutes later with a clear plastic wallet. Inside was, as he'd so accurately described it, a rather large knife, still bloody. Or rather, two rather large, bloody knives. One was completely sheathed in blood, the other only on one side of the tip. "This one was pulled out of his right thigh, the other the one he was clinging to as if his life depended on it." Lisbon flinched at his choice of words. "I understand they will be of great importance to your investigation?"

Lisbon recognised the cleaner one instantly from the set in Jane's kitchen, the set that currently had one missing, which mean that the other was Red John's own weapon. This could be the breakthrough they'd been waiting for, after all these years!

"Yes, sir! Thank you sir!" Lisbon smiled, taking the bag from him, checking over the two weapons. "_This could be it!_" she thought, overjoyed at the prospect of finally cuffing the serial killer once and for all.

* * *

**The next update could be a while. I've been neglecting my toher stories, and I'm also writing a few more Mentalist ones... Just warning you! Thanks for sticking with me! **

**Reviews = Love + Quicker Updates! ;)**


	6. Recovery

**I know, it's been a while, feel free to throw stuff in my general direction and I'll try not to jump out of the way. Bad stuff happened which meant that writing anything was as far from the front of my mind as it was possible to be, but I'm getting through it, and find myself with a lot more free time, so I'll be writing more!**

**It's a little short, but I just wanted to give you all an indication that I have not given up on this fic, in fact, far from it, this one seems to be the one I am most likely to finish first!**

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed to the last chapter, you're all aces!**

* * *

The doctor's had remained true to their word, and Jane had been kept under heavy sedation for two more days. There had been at least one guard stationed outside his room at all times, with one of Jane's colleagues with him too, whether he knew they were there or not. It didn't matter if he did in fact not know they were there; he needed them, and they were there for him.

Van Pelt, Cho, Rigsby and Lisbon took turns to stay in the room with him, stay for a few hours at a time then switch with the next person. They each brought some kind of entertainment for themselves to pass the time. Cho had his books which he kept his nose buried in, but never turned the page and read the same lines over and over again, while Rigsby brought lots and lots of food, though whether it was for himself or for Jane if he woke up no-one knew. Van Pelt brought paperwork to get on with, and her laptop to look up anything that sprang to mind, and also to play music that Jane had mentioned he liked on occasion. Lisbon also carried on with paperwork, though she looked up at the slightest noise and sighed when it turned out to be nothing more than someone walking past in the corridor outside.

Jane himself stayed mostly quiet and still for his part, the odd sigh or whimper, a twitch, shiver or jerk of the head the only indication that he was still alive. That and the constant steady bleep of the heart rate monitor and drip of the fluids being pumped into him. There were no more instances like the one which Lisbon and Van Pelt had unknowingly caused, mainly because the whole team was now very careful of what they said around him.

Gradually he started to improve. His cheeks became less hollow, he gained more colour than the pale white that had first shocked the team so much, the bruises darkening before they could have a chance to heal. But still he was kept unconscious, so as not to cause himself further injury.

It wasn't until two days after he was admitted that the doctor's saw fit to switch off his morphine feed, or at least turn it down to a level which would allow him to wake up, which made the CBI team even more paranoid and on high alert; if Red John wanted to get to Jane, he would do it before the consultant regained consciousness, just in case he did in fact see something which could lead them to Red John's real identity. The team stepped up Jane's protection, and for the hours after Jane's morphine was turned down, two of them stayed in his room at a time. All that they could do was wait until Jane woke up.

* * *

Pain. That was the first thing his slow mind registered. He couldn't move, but he could feel pain, in his head and leg. Why couldn't he move? His body felt so heavy, he couldn't even open his eyes. Why?

He was so tired. Nothing was making sense. Why was he so heavy and tired? He _thought_ he'd just been sleeping, how could he still be tired? And he still couldn't move. His body had never been this heavy before, why would it choose to gain a couple of tonnes now? Unless it wasn't him and Earth's gravity had intensified while he had been sleeping. And why had he been sleeping in the first place? He never slept, apart from a few hours every couple of days, so why was he sleeping? His head hurt. He didn't have the energy to deal with the pain yet. So, in as quick a decision as he was capable of making, Patrick Jane returned to the sleep that had eluded him for so many years.

* * *

**As I said; short. I know I feel disappointed when chapters that I'm waiting for aren't as long as I'd hoped, but I'm afraid this seemed like a good place to end it. Next chapter, Jane wakes up! Yay! :D Reviews are love!**


	7. The Bedside Skills Of Grace Van Pelt

**I'm making up for lost time now. This one's a bit longer, and Jane's more... Jane-ish, rather than crazy. At least I think so...**

* * *

Jane groaned as he rose once again to consciousness. His throat was raw and dry, and even making that tiny sound made it hurt. He tried to open his eyes, but when he succeeded the bright light caused a mini explosion somewhere in his head and he closed them again, grimacing in pain.

"Jane?"

A voice. A very _familiar_ voice. Van Pelt, maybe? No, definitely Van Pelt. Only she would put as much emotion into that one word. He groaned again, screwing his eyes shut tightly against the onslaught of lights above him.

"Jane? You OK?" Van Pelt asked him, genuinely concerned.

"The lights..." he moaned in reply.

Almost instantly the lights faded until he felt he could open his eyes without feeling like someone had lodged a pneumatic drill in his head. So he gave it a try. It took a few attempts, but eventually his eyes fluttered open. Everything was blurry, shapes all blending together in a vague swirl of colour and light and dark.

Slowly, a large red blob formed just to his right. Even more slowly, the red blob formed itself into a perfect representation of Grace Van Pelt's head.

"Jane...?"

"Hey..." he said, smiling slightly. "I've gotta say, Grace, you're a much better visitor than Lisbon."

"Don't tell her that or I might just be out of a job!" Grace smiled, a much bigger smile than Jane was wearing. "How're you feeling?"

"I don't know... OK I think..." Jane paused, thinking. "How _should_ I be feeling?"

"Well..." Grace tailed off, looking to the other side of the room.

"You should be feelin' like shit." Cho's monotone filled in the silence.

Jane nodded slightly, wincing at the pain it caused. "Well that's just as well then. Luckily that's exactly how I feel."

Cho walked into Jane's line of sight, a small smile lighting up his features in a way that no dodgy lighting could ever achieve. "Hey, man. You had us worried for a bit there."

"That wasn't my intention, but nice to see I can still cause those feelings in people!" Jane grinned, attempting to sit up on the hard bed he found himself lying in. The sheets were crisp and white, matching the walls. A hospital. Great. He hated hospitals. He had to get out as quickly as he could, maybe even quicker.

"Trust me; some people never stop worrying about you!" Grace laughed quietly. Cho stepped outside the room to call Lisbon and update her. She'd probably arrive red in the face in about ten minutes time, ready to yell at him for something he'd done wrong. "Seriously though, how are you feeling?"

"Meh! I'm fine! I'm better than fine! I'm great! No need to stay in this hellhole, so I'll just be leaving!" Jane announced loudly, making to get out of the bed. A sudden explosion of pain stopped him and he doubled over where he sat, coughing and gasping for breath. His leg felt like it was on fire. Clapping a hand to his head, he felt a sturdy turban of bandages surrounding his skull.

"Jane, take it easy," Grace said calmly, ushering him back down into the pillows while he coughed and groaned. "you've been through a lot, you need to rest."

"Rest is for people who have nothing to do in their lives! I can rest when I'm dead!" he moaned, sounding like a spoilt three-year-old denied a new toy.

"Keep talking like that and you soon might be dead!" Grace said sternly, straightening the sheets that covered him. "Red John almost killed you. He would have killed you if I hadn't arrived in time! And that reminds me-" She broke off, searching through her pockets for something. After a few seconds, she held up her hand, a set of shiny keys clutched loosely in her fingers. "These are yours, you left them at CBI." She handed them to him silently.

Jane looked at her, seeing the concern in her eyes. A sudden memory surfaced in his mind; lying in Grace's arms on the wet sidewalk, her holding his hand, talking soothingly to him over the noise and sirens and flashing lights of chaos. She'd had the same look in her eyes then too.

"It seems I owe you an apology, Grace..." he said quietly, looking her square in the eye.

"What for?"

"I remember I might have had a little bit of a turn after you arrived. I put you through a lot, stuff that you shouldn't have to deal with, and I'm sorry for what I did."

Grace sighed. She had expected this, though maybe not quite so soon. "Jane, you don't have to apologise. I'd probably have done the same thing if I'd been in your position. You went though a lot more than me! If anyone should be apologising, it's me, for not getting to you sooner!"

"You of all people have nothing to be sorry for! You stayed with me! You held my hand all the way back to hospital! You never left my side, and no-one asked you to do that! You should be thanked and applauded, not sorry!"

Grace blushed. "You were unconscious! You were out cold!"

"Say's who?" said Jane, indignantly.

"You could've let me know, said hello or something!"

"My dear, dear Van Pelt, I think in this instance, we must both agree to disagree as to who needs to apologise to whom, or else we may be stuck in this endless battle until the end of time, or until Rigsby decides to go on a diet, whichever comes last. Deal?" He smiled slyly, offering his hand.

"Deal!" Van Pelt laughed, shaking his hand, grinning. She could tell he was feeling better when he started making witty remarks that it took her ten minutes to figure out what he'd said.

The door opened and Cho came striding into the room, snapping his cell phone shut as he went. "Boss is on her way."

"Spectacular!" Jane groaned with an over-exaggerated roll of his eyes, though the movement sent spikes of pain through his head, so he stopped. "Probably coming to yell at me..."

"Damn right I'm gonna yell!" Lisbon growled, storming into the room with a look on her face akin to a murdering psychopath having a bad day.

Jane sighed. "Really, Cho? _Really_? Why do you do this to me?"

Cho simply shrugged. "I only said that Boss was on her way, I didn't say how long she'd be!" Jane was sure he saw Cho smirk, but he didn't trust his eyes so let it slide.

Lisbon, however, was not going to let anything slide. "Jane!" she said loudly, making the blonde man wince at the volume. "What the hell am I going to do with you? You could've _died_!"

"Lisbon, if I could just say something-"

"No you cannot! You don't think! You put your childish need for revenge above your own safety! Above _everyone's_ safety. And look where it's got you now! You nearly died!"

"Teresa, I think-"

"And look at yourself! You don't even care! You sit there, looking all smug and happy, when the truth is that if it hadn't been for Van Pelt you _would_ be dead by now!"

"Lisbon!" Jane shouted, surprising everyone, including himself. In fact, it took him a few seconds to ignore the burning pain in his throat to continue. "If I remember correctly, it was your good self who sent me away from CBI in the first place. Now, I'm not pointing fingers, because I'm not blaming anyone. If I hadn't left CBI that evening then Red John would have waited until I did. So, in a way, it was a good thing that you made me leave."

There was silence for a few seconds. The Cho broke it. "How?" he asked simply.

"Well, now we know that Red John is after me, properly this time, he wants me dead. If I'd left it any longer, then Van Pelt wouldn't have needed to follow me, and so would not have been there to stop him. He would have just waited until I was alone to take me out then instead. And it tells us something else." He paused, though whether for effect of because he had to no-one knew.

"It also tells us that we're getting to him. We're getting closer. He's monitoring everything the CBI gets on him, we know that for a fact. Something we know, something we recently learned, has the possibility of leading us closer to him, closer than he wants us getting, close enough, maybe even to catch him. Something we know, is if vital importance to him. Now we get to the tricky stuff."

"Now?" Van Pelt scoffed.

"Yes!" Jane smiled. "Don't you see? Why attack me now? And why not one of you?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure you're about to tell us..." Lisbon drawled, looking bored. Jane knew she was secretly hanging on his every word, and was angry at herself for it, but didn't want to point it out to her in case there was anything around that she could throw at him and cause his further damage.

"Isn't it obvious? The something that we have on him must be something that seems irrelevant, so we could overlook it on first inspection. That means that it must be something that only I would notice, otherwise it might be one of you in this bed and not me. So, he had to kill me. If it had been something that any of us could notice, it could have been any one of us that he went after! Therefore, he had to kill me so I wouldn't notice and you lot would be left stumped as to his timing and purpose."

"So, he targeted you so that no-one would be able to figure out why, or what we had on him, so he'd be free to carry on killing and you'd finally be out of his way?" Cho summarised quickly.

"Bongo!" Jane smiled, clapping patronisingly.

"I think you mean "Bingo!" Jane!" Lisbon laughed slightly. "And don't be so condescending, or I won't send Grace after you next time!"

"No, I mean bongo! So much more appropriate, I think!"

Lisbon straightened up. "OK, enough fooling around. Cho, you and Grace stay with him, make sure he does what he's told and stays put. I'll go help Rigsby with the CCTV and getting things all prepared for when you get out. Jane, don't be an ass and keep your mouth shut." She walked from the room, her hair bouncing on her shoulders and with more of a spring in her step than she's had on entry.

"Charming..." Jane sighed, watching her retreating back. He looked to Cho. "She loves me really."

"Yeah right." Cho scoffed, a thick book appearing in his hand, ready for him to dive into at a moment's notice.

* * *

**That's better, isn't it? Now Jane's awake, the really fun stuff can get under way!**


	8. Evil Needle People

**I'm late again, I know... I have no excuse... But, though I hadn't planned on writing a chapter today, I randomly sat down to right one, and here I am, 3 hours later, putting it up! This has shown me that actually, I don't have to set aside days to write, and I can just do it on a whim, so (and I genuinely mean it, this time), updates should be quicker form now on. Also, I realised how fun it is to completely write a chapter as you go! People who don't, and who always plan, you should try it, it turns out to be rather fun! Anyway, on with the chapter! Enjoy!**

* * *

When Jane had been admitted to the hospital, Lisbon had warned the doctors and nurses associated with him that he would be a handful. They'd laughed her off, saying that they'd handled far worse, patting her on the back and sending her on her way, saying they'd update her with his condition whenever it seemed appropriate.

They'd had _no idea_ what they were letting themselves in for.

From the minute he'd woken up, Jane had made it his mission to be as infuriating as possible. He kept pressing the button labelled "Emergency Call" next to his bed when he thought no-one was looking. He'd then look surprised when a nurse came running into the room looking panicky, and proceed to deny all knowledge of any button pressing which may or may not have occurred. Before long, the nurses all seemed to have agreed to take no notice of the button from "Mr. Jane's Ward". Jane didn't seem to care. In fact, he seemed relieved that no "Evil Needle People" would be popping in unexpectedly to check in on him. Medical staff were loathed to be anywhere near him, and Jane despised their very existence, so both parties were happy with the unspoken agreement.

Van Pelt, or whoever happened to be with him at the time tried to dissuade him from making the lives of the medical staff a living Hell, but he found the whole thing rather funny, so they may as well have been talking to a 3-year-old who'd been told not to throw the conveniently placed water balloon at his least-favourite aunt.

That arrangement failed in spectacular fashion, when the nurses failed to respond to a genuine call for help. Jane had been struggling again, trying to tell Rigsby that he was more than fine and should be allowed to leave the hellhole. He'd tried to get out of bed, Rigsby had tried to keep him down, and as a result, Jane managed to tear every single stitch in his leg, and proceeded to bleed profusely over the too-white sheets. The ensuing alarm call had been ignored and Lisbon had threatened every attendant on that floor with a week in the cells if anything like it ever happened again.

Jane, of course, had not escaped unscathed from that incident. As well as tearing his stitches, he'd also had to suffer while they were re-done, lost any chance of having a nurse-free stay, set back his own recovery, ensured that he had to stay longer in the room that he swore was built purely to drive him insane, and endured a serious talk/shouting session with Lisbon about being a pain in the ass and being shot to put both the hospital and Jane himself, out of their respective miseries.

Indignantly, Jane had protested at the unfairness of his treatment. "But Lisbon," he'd complained, "it's a button! A button purposely put within reach! A button like that is made to be pressed! If it's not for entertainment, what is it for?"

"To make nurses come running, ready to save your life again!"

"Exactly! Entertainment! The button would be sad if it wasn't used, and I'd be sad if there was no button! This way, we're both happy, and the Evil Needle People lose a couple of pounds too! It's a win-win-win situation!"

Lisbon simply groaned and stalked from the room before she caused him any more bodily harm, however much he deserved it.

* * *

The day when Jane was released from hospital could not have come quickly enough for anyone concerned.

Red John had made no more attempts on Jane's life, though he was still going to be accompanied wherever he went with at least one member of the Serious Crimes Unit. Red John was patient, this they all knew, and they weren't going to give him another opportunity to kill off their injured consultant.

Jane was the happiest when the day finally arrived when he could leave. He almost seemed ecstatic when they presented him with his pair of crutches, and tested them out immediately by tripping a livid Rigsby into a rather flimsy plastic chair, which the CBI then had to pay to have replaced.

Grateful to finally be out, Jane limped, one crutch under each arm, out into the bright sunlight. The warmth washed over him instantly, making him feel happier than he had in days. He took a deep breath of the clean air, which immediately cleansed his nostrils of the horrid hospital stench he'd been repulsed by since he regained consciousness.

"Come on, man!" Rigsby groaned, coming to stand beside him. He was anxious to get away; he could still see the doctors and nurses standing at the window, waiting for the blonde man to finally leave. "Can we go yet?"

"Just a second..." Jane sighed appreciatively, still breathing in the clean, fresh, unsterilized air. He held his arms out to the sides, still resting on the crutches under arm. He leant all his weight on them and his uninjured leg, lifting the other foot clean off the ground, eyes closed, testing his balance. "Where are we going anyway?"

"Crime scene. CCTV caught a car registered to a Michael Crane arriving before you did, and leaving within the time frame you were attacked. We tracked down Michael Crane to a hotel a few miles away. By the time we got there, Crane was dead. Murdered. Red John, we think, judging by the face on the wall. Lisbon wants you to take a look at it, see if it gives you any clues into what he was thinking when he tried to kill you."

"Duty calls then..." Jane opened his eyes and started limping towards the SUV parked by the sidewalk. As he reached its side, he turned on the spot as well as he could and waved to the faces pressed against the windows, watching his long-awaited departure. He waved cheerily with one arm.

"Goodbye, Evil Needle People!" he shouted heartily. Then he smiled, turned back to the SUV when Rigsby had opened the passenger door for him, took one step forward, and promptly fell into the car's interior, face planting the leather seat with an audible "Ooof!" Or it might have been an "Ow!" Rigsby couldn't quite tell. He was trying not to laugh.

* * *

Getting out of the vehicle had also proven problematic. Jane didn't seem to be able to manoeuvre the crutches so that they touched the ground before he tried to swing himself out. Rigsby had just managed to catch him before he fell face-first onto the sidewalk, but it had been close; one of his fingers had actually brushed the stone as he tried futilely to regain his balance. They then agreed that if he ever wanted to exit a vehicle again, he had to wait until the driver had got out first and helped him. This did dent Jane's pride a bit, but he chose not to show it, he'd already take quite a blow from falling _into _the car in the first place, he didn't need his falling _out _of it to become common knowledge too.

Rigsby had his arms full with equipment that Lisbon had asked him to bring, and Jane was in no position to help him. Not that he would have offered anyway; Rigsby was a strong man, he could carry his own luggage, plus, one man helping another with beer was one thing, one man helping another with official CBI equipment was another thing entirely.

As they entered the hotel, Jane noticed that it really wasn't the kind of establishment that one would want to spend an hour in, let alone an entire night. Paint was peeling off the walls, the carpet was threadbare in some places, and so dirty it looked someone had bled out in others.

Rigsby had already told him that there had only been 3 other people booked into rooms last night, and that they'd all been taken in for questioning, as well as the staff on duty that night, so the hotel was empty apart from CBI and the General Manager, who was also in Crane's room presently.

Jane looked around to see if there was an elevator nearby. The crime scene was on the 8th floor, and he really didn't fancy the thought of all the stairs in his present condition. A sign obediently told him that one was situated round a corner by the reception desk. But his luck was out. As he and Rigsby approached, it became obvious that it would be of no use to them. A bunch of bright yellow tape obstructed their path, declaring that the elevator was "OUT OF ORDER OUT OF ORDER OUT OF ORDER" Its doors remained ajar by about the width of a human head, and through the gap they could see that the apparatus had stubbornly halted halfway between floors.

"Ah..." said Rigsby. "Right... Um..." He glanced sideways at Jane. "I know! I'll just nip upstairs and unload all this lot, then come back down and help you up, OK?" He was nearly dropping everything as it was, and he just wanted to put the stuff down. More than anything, he wanted to avoid having to pay for any replacements if he dropped it all. Jane simply nodded, staring at the stairs with an expression which was half hate, half terror.

Rigsby ran off, taking the stairs as quickly as he dared. It still took him nearly 10 minutes to reach the right floor, whereby he walked into the room, trying to catch his breath, and placed the equipment on the floor by the door.

The room, even under any other circumstances would have been considered dingy. Though there was a double bed, the sheets were grimy and covered in a horribly old fashioned pattern. The floor was covered with the same design as in the lobby, and was just as threadbare. A simple dressing table stood by the dirty window, its mirror cracked slightly down the middle, and covered in dust. On the mirror, was a grusome smiley face, drawn in Michael Crane's blood. It smiled at them, laughing at its own joke until tears of that same blood ran from the corner of its eyes, the body of its victim lying, reflected, inside the scarlet circle.

There was also a wardrobe and chest of drawers, and from his position, Rigsby could see the small en suite bathroom, which held only a toilet, shower cubical, and a grotty little sink with rusted taps. It looked just like a scene one would normally find in a film where the hero visits a place from their childhood, only to find it abandoned and in a state of disrepair.

"How does this place get any business at all?" Rigsby wondered aloud.

"It's the only place for miles where you can stop and stay the night. If it gets late enough, people will stay anywhere." Van Pelt reasoned from the other side of the room.

Forensics were already there, photographing the body. Michael Crane may once have been quite handsome. Now, however, he was fit only for a morgue. Blood had dried in his hair, making it matted and dark, where it had once been blonde. His face was frozen in an expression of fear, eyes wide, mouth slack, giving him a somewhat gormless appearance which might have been amusing if not for the circumstances he was found in. He lay on the bed, spread-eagled on his back, in a pool of his own life-blood from where it had flown freely out of the large cut across his throat. If Rigsby had been unacquainted with this kind of scene, he may well have been unable to stomach it and would have fled from the room by now to be violently sick in the corridor. As it was, he only had to swallow a few times.

"Coroner puts the TOD at about 6 or 7 pm yesterday. It seems Red John only stole the car after he's killed the owner, then left him here for us to find. One single laceration to the throat, straight through the jugular and windpipe, so blood would have travelled down to the lungs and he may even have suffocated before he bled out. There's a single puncture wound in the neck, which explain why horse tranquilisers were found in his blood." Cho reeled off quickly, always the professional.

"So Red John drugged him up to his eyeballs and let him lie there waiting to die, and not be able to do the slightest thing about it." Lisbon sighed. "It explains why the bed covers are largely undisturbed, and why the blood pool is basically the same diameter whichever way you look at it."

"That's just a new level of cruel..." Rigsby growled, fists clenched tightly.

"That the equipment?" Lisbon asked him, making him tear his eyes away from the horrific scene in front of him.

"Everything you asked for, Boss."

"I've got a question though," Van Pelt interrupted from her corner, "this place only had 3 people booking in last night, so why is the victim on the 8th floor?"

"I think I know why..." Cho suddenly said. He'd been glancing around the room to see if there was anything out of the ordinary, and he'd spotted a piece of paper in the lamp fitting above the dressing table. He read out what was written on it.

"_Dear Agents,_

_I hope you enjoy the little present I left you here, it was rather enjoyable to create for you, I must say. Watching Michael inch ever closer to death and be powerless against it reminded me slightly of our mutual friend, Patrick. He had the same look in his eyes as when I last met with Mr. Jane; one of sadness and rage, not unlike an animal, cornered and all too aware of its impending end._

_Anyway, back to Mr. Crane. No doubt you traced the car back to him with ease, which, I confess, was my intention. I wanted to break you all in slowly. It may seem that I wanted Patrick dead, and admittedly, I did. Notice I said did, past-tense. Not to say that I don't ever want him to die, I'll kill him eventually, of course, just not now. Instead, I have decided that Patrick is going to help me play a game with you all.. After all, you're all detectives, you must love puzzles, all murders traditionally have at least some air of mystery about them, which must be solved before you can call your day over. _

_So, here is what I propose; you solve puzzles for a living, and my work practically is your living, so I shall endeavour to make the next few days a lot more interesting for you. Of course, Patrick will play a part in my game, whether he wants to or not. I find I can be very persuasive, especially when it comes to Mr. Jane. _

_I shall see you all soon, and then the Game will begin. _

_Good luck to you, Agents,_

_Red John_

_P.S. I do apologise to you for dragging you all up to this high height, but I decided that, as Patrick refused to die properly in our last encounter, and escape with only a crutch-worthy injury, I'd have to milk him for a little more pain than he was offering. 8 flights of stairs with that leg of his simply seemed like far too good an oppertunity to waste"_

The room was silent for a few seconds, save for the occasional snap of a camera or whir of the flash.

"Puzzles?" Van Pelt could hardly believe what she'd heard. "He wants us to play along while he sends us _puzzles_?"

"And what does Jane have to do with this?" Lisbon wondered.

They all looked towards Michael Crane lying on the bed between them, trying not to imagine another blonde haired man lying in his stead.

Cho suddenly looked up. "Where is Jane, anyway?"

Rigsby looked around, as if Jane would magically materialise out of thin air if he looked hard enough. "Shit!" he suddenly yelled, and charged back out into the corridor. He arrived at the top of the stairs only to find Jane 3 steps away from reaching the landing. He was barely standing, breathing hard, concentrating solely on putting one foot in front of the other. Deathly pale and shaking, with sweat literally running in rivulets down his face, he looked like he was ready to keel over at any moment, gripping one crutch and the banister on his other side like they were the only things anchoring him to reality.

"God, Jane, I'm so sorry!" Rigsby gasped, running to help the exhausted consultant. Taking the crutch-gripping arm over his shoulder, he half-carried, half-dragged the semi-conscious consultant up onto the landing and deposited him in a chair which Van Pelt placed at the closest possible point.

"Jane, I'm _so _sorry! I totally forgot! I... We found a –" he began. Jane just waved a hand in a half-hearted attempt at shutting him up (which worked), still concentrating on getting enough air into his lungs to last him the next few minutes. He was wheezing something terrible, slumped boneless in the chair, eyes closed, just panting.

Cho arrived in that second, glanced at Jane, and punched Rigsby in the shoulder. "What did you do to him, man?"

Lisbon walked quickly out into the corridor and took one look at her consultant. "In your own time, Jane, not all of us can laze about all day! And Rigsby; you're carrying him everywhere from now on!"

"Yes, Boss..." Rigsby sighed.

* * *

**For anyone who still likes me in any way, I have a favour to ask, although I know I've done nothing to warrant one. I have recently published a different fic, and I'm sad to say that so far it hasn't done very well. It's called "Blue Box and Scarlet Time", and is a Mentalist/DoctorWho crossover, for those of you who like that kind of thing. I have to admit, out of everything I have published as of yet on this site, BBAST is the one that I am most proud of. If someone could drop by and tell me what you think, I'd be amazingly grateful!**

**Reviewers get bananas!**


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